


That Which Divides Us

by flamelesspropaganda



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: 1860s AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, American Civil War, American Civil War AU, Inspired by Left 4 Dead (Video Games), Left 4 Dead - Freeform, M/M, Nellis, Slow Burn, keith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamelesspropaganda/pseuds/flamelesspropaganda
Summary: In 1860, the American paradigm got flipped entirely. Once Abraham Lincoln got elected, the separation between North and South fell to a rift, and broke the United States in two.Ellis was pulled from his simple farm life into fighting for the Confederate States of America, and Nick was pulled from his strange city life into fighting for the United States of America.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be forewarned: This takes place during the American Civil War. There will be battles from it, and other topics of the era (i.e. America’s divide, slavery, war, Lincoln, etc.). If you don’t prefer reading about those sorts of things this fic is not for you!

May 3rd, 1863

The hot sun beat down on the men as they marched through some wooded roads. No one really said anything, but everyone had the same thing on their minds.  _ Survive _ . It was a simple thing they wanted. It wasn’t as simple to earn, though. Survival meant being ruthless, and tearing people from their homes and their lives. Ellis hated thinking of it like that. He preferred pretending that they were all lonely men who had nothing better to do. 

The sun was always a major part of his life though. When he was young, it was playing in the sun, and when he’d aged, and lost his father, it was working on the small field beside the slave that taught him how to work. His family only had two, and they were like family to him. He and his mother would even let them sit at the dining table with them, which was something he couldn’t tell a soul. 

One of them was a woman who worked in the house. She wasn’t much older than he was, they grew up together. His mother made his father get the girl when she was young. He always chalked his mother down as a woman who couldn’t say no to kids. Though it was against the law, she taught the girl how to read and write. Along with that, they used to mend clothing together, cook together, clean together, and even sing together. 

Ellis, on the other hand, learned to work hard, and hunt with their other slave, who was as old as his own father. The two always had a strong father-son bond, and they enjoyed the same songs. 

Those songs echoed through Ellis’s mind as Union lines came into his sights. He was confident to a degree, being under the command of General Stonewall Jackson. He also felt he could be more confident than his union enemies. His country was winning. 

They’d been fighting since April 30th, and it was May 3rd. Ellis felt awful about May 3rd. It made him sick to his stomach. His hands shook as Stonewall looked at the union lines engaged in battle with Robert E. Lee’s troops. He looked over the men, who were organizing themselves in hiding places in the woods, and smiled. 

“Prepare for the fight of your lives. This victory will not be easy, but fight on this day for God and your country,” he said. 

Ellis shut his eyes tightly. In his mind, his family smiled at him. His mother was in the sun, mixing tea with Rochelle, and the two were singing. He and Coach left the field for the day to get a drink, and listen to the women’s harmonies. 

Keith, beside him, nudged his shoulder, pulling him back to reality, and smiled. 

“I’ll see ya’ on the other side of this mess,” he said. Ellis nodded.

“See ya’ on the other side, Keith,” he said. 

“What do you always say?” Keith asked as Stonewall made his way to the back of the lines. 

“Kill all sons of bitches,” Ellis answered. 

Orders were shouted, and the lines sprinted toward the unsuspecting union lines. Ellis saw men fall left and right. It made his spirits fall, and his heart sink. He knew the men around him well. He knew they had families. They were fathers, and brothers, and sons, and grandsons. 

Smoke filled the fields, and bodies littered the ground. Ellis kept a close eye out for two people: Keith, and Stonewall. It didn’t take long for Keith to fall out of his sights. He knew never to panic about that; Keith had the funny habit of showing up when all is over, or at the worst times.

Ellis fired like his life depended on it, because, frankly, it did. Men kept falling, and the smoke stung his eyes. At least the money was going home, he thought. 

He hated fighting. It was an overload of the senses. Loud bombs burst, gunshots echoed, people screamed -- _ a lot _ . Smoke and dust always had its way of filling the air and clouding his eyes, and filling his nose. Rotting -- the smell of blood and something rotting was always there. Men fell left and right, friends and enemies. Brothers fought head-to-head for different countries. 

That bad feeling pulled at his mind, and made his stomach fall. Butterflies. Butterflies from being anxious beyond belief fluttered and flapped, and made him sicker than he wanted to be. He fired again, and again, and kept thanking God that each bullet that whizzed by him didn’t strike him. 

The repetition of shooting kept on until the evening. Ellis hadn’t realized that the Union lines had been pushed back so far. Stonewall, Lee, and the Union general, General Joseph Hooker, took their troops back to camp. 

They marched in their orderly lines, men coated in once maroon blood, which had dried brown. There was enough light, once camp was set up, for men to engage in whatever they wanted to do. Some read, some wrote, but often, many played with cards. Ellis, however, sat by the fire with some other men. He pulled his small pocket notebook to his lap, and started writing:

 

_ Dear mama,  _

_ I lived to see another day.  _

_ I can’t wait to get back home. I miss you, and Coach, and Rochelle, and the farm, and the dogs. There is a ringing in my ears, and I don’t know if that is normal. I think it is because of all of the loud noises. My eyes sting, too, but that isn’t all bad. I still count myself lucky. I have both my arms, both my legs, both my eyes, both my ears, and I’m still all in one piece.  _

_ I miss the dinners you and Ro cooked. They are so much better than anything we’ll ever get here.  _

_ I’ve told you about hardtack before I think. It’s that stuff that is like a thick, hard cracker that you can crack your teeth off of if you aren’t careful. Well, mine had bugs in it again today, so I put it in my coffee. _

_ Remember Keith? This one time recently, my buddy Keith went to a local during the night, and traded his copy of the bible to the homeowners for some meat, and warm food. They did it once he told them he was a soldier! _

_ I’m writing this letter to you on the third of May, but it won’t get mailed until we pass through a nice town.  _

_ Until I see you again, _

_ Your boy, Ellis _

 

He tore the page out of his book, and folded it. He smiled a little as he slipped it into his pocket, and looked around at the men around the fire. They were all quiet. 

He suddenly remembered that he never saw Keith marching back. He feared the worst instantly. He looked beside him on both sides. A man named Robert sat on his left, and John on his right. 

He stood up quietly, acquiring their looks. 

“I will be back here by time we should be in tents,” he said. John gave a solemn nod, and Robert waved him off. Ellis stepped over the log he was sitting on, and entered the treeline. There was nothing but darkness. He tried to see by the limited light of the rising moon and stars. “Keith,” he whispered. “Keith, are you out here?”

He wandered aimlessly until he couldn’t hear the men from his camp any longer. He paused, and turned to face his camp. He couldn’t tell what sort of things he was feeling. It was worry, and fear, and mourning, but also adventure. It was a strange terrain in the dark, and he was there alone, adventuring himself. It was a thrill. An adrenaline rushing thrill. Fear. His gut contained a battle between fear and thrill, and unlike the battle he’d fought in that day, there was no sure winner.

The scent of tobacco smoke suddenly attacked his nose. It was close. He froze, and turned around.

“Keith?” he whispered. 

“Think again, Reb,” a deep voice said. A hand suddenly smacked over his mouth, and the barrel of a handgun met his temple. The smell of smoke engulfed him. “What are you doing out here, Reb? State your name.” The man moved his hand from Ellis’s mouth, to constraining him more. 

“Ellis!” he said quickly, gasping for clean air, “I’m Ellis, and I’m trying to find my buddy Keith!” 

The man chuckled to himself. 

“More likely than not,  _ kid _ , Keith is dead,” he sneered. 

“No, not Keith. You don’t know Keith,” Ellis said, trying to free himself. The gun got pushed into his temple harder, which made him stop. 

“I don’t know Keith, but I know  _ war _ , kid. You don’t get to be a lieutenant for nothing,” the man spat. 

“I’m  _ really _ sorry, but could you just let me go? I promise I won’t come out here again,” Ellis asked, shrinking into his collar. The man turned him around, keeping the gun to his head. He took a long drag on his cigar, which provided a small enough glow for both of them to get a look at each other. The man noted Ellis’s green eyes, and tan skin that was stained by battle. A scratch stretched deeply over his nose. 

Ellis saw the man’s stone-cold structure. He was pale, and had frozen eyes. His dark hair was back, out of his face, where his cigar and smoke coated every inch. 

“I’m not sure if I  _ should _ let you go, Johnny,” he said. 

“ _ Ellis _ ,” Ellis said. 

“Who’s there?!” a voice shouted from behind the man. He turned, and instantly shot the person dead. 

“Shit,” the lieutenant mumbled. He dragged Ellis by the sleeve over toward the dead man. “Shit,” he said again, with a more aggressive tone. The man that was on the ground wore a blue uniform, and a blue hat. The Lieutenant inhaled sharply. He turned to Ellis angrily. “Get the hell out of here. I just saved your ass from getting killed or captured. Go!” the lieutenant shouted. 

Ellis sprinted from the scene instantly. He didn’t turn back. He couldn’t tell what was in his mind.

He got back to his camp, where everyone stood solemnly. Ellis quietly walked up behind John, who stood toward the back of the mass. 

“What happened?” he asked quietly. 

“Stonewall got shot by some of our own men,” John whispered. His glance turned to a glare. “Where were you?”

“I was -- uh -- in the woods. Keith was missing, so I went to find him--”

“Keith isn’t missing,” John said quickly. Ellis’s eyes widened. “He got a bandage from the medic. He tripped during the battle, and cut his leg or something like that. Won’t be too bad.”

“At least he ain’t dead,” Ellis said. “And Stonewall? What do they think about Stonewall’s condition?”

“All men to their tents,” an authoritative voice boomed. 

“Not well, I presume,” John mumbled before everyone disbanded. 

Back in Ellis’s tent, Keith rested. Ellis smiled when the two saw each other. 

“Keith! I’m so glad you’re alive, I didn’t know where you were,” he said. Keith nodded.

“I didn’t know where you were when I got back,” he responded. “Where were  _ you _ ?” Ellis rested on top of the thick army issued blanket. 

“I was trying to find  _ you _ . I went in the woods,” he answered. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his cotton uniform to allow for cooling. “You know, it’s not too hot up here. It’s actually nice.”

“Oh, Ellis, you’ve hardly been outside of Georgia. Anything to you will be ‘ _ nice _ ,’” Keith joked quietly. “You know, I’ve heard that there are some cool mountain and rock formations in West Virginia, northern Virginia, and Pennsylvania. I hope we at least get to West Virginia, and at most to Pennsylvania.”

“Rocks?” Ellis asked with a cocked brow.

“Yeah, rocks,” Keith turned to his side, dipping his face into the golden candle light. “I want to take a nice stone home for my mother. I can’t buy her anything, so I’m hoping to get her some nice quartz in Pennsylvania.” Ellis rolled his eyes. “Are you getting anything for your mother?”

“I write to her every week, and send almost all of my paycheck home,” Ellis said, “I don’t know what else she’d want.” 

“Well, she’d want you alive. So if you manage to make it, you don’t  _ have _ to get her anything.”

Ellis’s brow furrowed.

“Are you telling me you’re planning on dying, Keith?”

“No, what I’m doing is  _ planning _ for the future. There are a few outcomes of this war. One: we live in victory. Two: we die for victory. And three is the most unlikely: we live or die in failure. I’d rather cover everything I’d need to cover here, Ellis,” Keith said, promptly blowing the candle between them out.

Ellis looked back at the top of the tent. Stones, rocks, letters, money. None of it really mattered. Living and surviving on the other hand -- that mattered.

“Hey Keith,” Ellis whispered below the buzz of the cicadas. 

“Hm,” Keith hummed quietly. 

“Do you know any names of any Union Lieutenants?”

There was a pause.

“No,” Keith finally said with suspicion. “I barely even know the names of our officers of our army… why are you so interested in Union officers all of a sudden?” 

Ellis’s eyes widened and he chuckled. 

“Uh, you know… Getting to know the enemy, right? Better to know more about your enemy than nothing at all,” he forced with another chuckle. He could feel Keith’s sharp eyes piercing him through the darkness. 

“I’ll do you a favor and pretend you never asked,” Keith said in a low voice. “Night Ell.”

“Night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mumblety-peg: A knife game including several ways, basically trick shots, of knives. People had to throw the knife specific ways for each level, and get it into the ground as deeply as possible. It was played during this era, and was referenced in famous works of the time.

June 3rd, 1863

Ellis marched quietly beside Keith. They were in lines among other soldiers. There was a beat, like the heartbeat of each of the men there, to which they marched. Ellis knew he marched with men who believed there was no such thing as equality, but he believed that all men were created equal. He didn’t want to own slaves. 

Coach and Rochelle were family to him. Everyone in his house made it a home for him. They all cared about each other. 

Since the end of the previous battle, the Battle of Chancellorsville, a tragedy stuck his army. On May 10th, 1863, General Thomas ‘Stonewall’ Jackson died from his wounds. No one in the army knew how General Lee responded alone. In front of the armies, however, he was quiet whenever anyone brought up Stonewall. Lee’s soldiers stayed around Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg until the third of June. That was when Lee set his sights on the Shenandoah Valley. 

Ellis used the marching time to reflect on his thoughts. One of them that he kept in the back of his mind was the Union Lieutenant. Most of the recent days, a small spat with Keith had been bothering him. Only days ago, Ellis told Keith, once the lamp in their tent was out, that he was worried that after the death of the army’s beloved Stonewall Jackson, they would fall. It made Keith  _ angry _ . 

By time they marched, though, Keith had given Ellis quite the talk. 

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander. The day never seemed to end. When the sun dipped past the mountains, and everyone set up camp. Ellis almost dreaded meal times. He took the hardtack from his bag, and put it in his boiling coffee. He was almost begging for a resupply. When the army  _ was _ resupplied -- they got more than hardtack and coffee. Sometimes, they had beans, cornmeal, and if they were lucky, they got fruits and vegetables. 

He sat around the fire with Keith beside him. Keith didn’t mind biting right into the hardtack… Ellis, on the other hand, wasn’t a fan of eating bugs. He looked at his coffee to see that the bugs had started surfacing. Keith looked into Ellis’s cup as he watched it in disdain.

“What are you, a lady?” Keith tormented. “Just eat the stuff.”

“Last time I bit into this stuff, I chipped a tooth. If I lose my teeth, Keith, I gotta go home if they don’t want to move me to artillery,” Ellis fired back. “I don’t want to walk from here to Savannah in this heat.” 

Keith scoffed, and sipped his coffee. 

“I miss beer,” he said. Ellis looked into his cup and nodded.

“I miss home,” he added. 

“I miss the ladies,” Keith said. He laughed to himself. 

Ellis looked back down at his mug. His expression was unreadable. He slowly got a stick from the ground, and used it to fish the dead bugs out of the steam and off of the surface of his coffee. John sat beside him, and looked at his coffee.

“Can I use that stick, Ell?” John asked. 

“Babies,” Keith scoffed. Ellis passed the stick to John, and smirked as an idea appeared in his mind. 

“You know, John, have I ever told you about the time my buddy Keith over there  lived in a churchyard?” he asked, glaring at Keith, who furrowed his brow.

“I do not believe you have,” John chuckled.

“So Keith lived in a churchyard for a week once, and not because he wanted to see a ghost or nothin’, he just wanted to see what it was like--”

“Ellis, can this wait?” Keith almost growled. Ellis and John laughed. 

“Sure,” he answered. 

The men around them were abuzz. Some were singing old hymns and bar shanties, and some were reading and discussing the bible. Some were smoking, and some were playing mumblety-peg, which was a knife game that Ellis hated. The first time he tried to play it, he nearly lost a finger. Often, Ellis found himself writing home, reading the parts of the bible he could understand, or watching people play card games. Sometimes, when it was lighter and they had enough free time, they’d all put together a game of baseball. 

Ellis always played baseball when they could. 

“Ellis, Keith,” called one of the men from a circle, “get over here.” 

Keith shrugged, and grabbed Ellis by his sleeve. The humidity was thick and sticky, even in the night. He kept pulling his jacket from his skin. He wished for a good storm to break it -- even if it meant they last a night in rain. 

The circle of men was made of about seven cardholders. 

“I need witnesses for this victory,” the man said with a smirk. He threw his hand onto the stump in the middle of all of them, where the items for bargain sat. There was some tobacco, and a small book, which was assumed to be the New Testament of the Bible, and three pieces of hardtack. There were a few coins in the pile, too. 

Everyone in the circle neared the hand, illuminated dully by a candle. They all groaned, and threw their hands down angrily. 

“I guess he won, then,” Keith chuckled. Ellis nodded, and strayed from the masses. He sat under the trees in a section that was free of leaves. He could see the stars almost perfectly. Ashes were swiped across his face, leaving dark smudges. Those didn’t mask his smiles, though they tried. He dismissed his fears of losing the war as he looked at the stars again. 

He had a slight headache from the pressures of the day, but it was unable to keep him from humming along with the song his mother always sang at home. He was ready to fight another day, and to march another hundred miles to their next destination, wherever it was. 

He stood and stretched slightly. He felt his back crack, which relieved some stress. Making his way back to camp, he smiled again. 

Keith took notice quickly. 

“What woman did  _ you _ find in the woods to make you so chipper?” he asked. Ellis laughed.

“No woman. Just some stars,” he answered.

“It’s always something else with you,” Keith mumbled before he sat in a circle with some men to play a round of cards. 

“I’m going to the tent, Keith,” he said. He turned to John, who just gave him a simple wave. 

He went to his small tent, and rested on the bedroll he had laid out already. Releasing a loud sigh, he smiled. 


	3. Chapter 3

June 28th, 1863

“Welcome, General George Meade,” said Lieutenant Nick Ghazi, weakly shaking the new General’s hand. The general smiled.

“Thank you Lieutenant,” he responded respectfully before making his way toward the rest of the line of officers. 

Nick had seen generals come and go since he'd become an officer. The president was never satisfied. If a general lost, they were moved from their higher rank, and demoted, or moved to a different placement. Nick had a good feeling about Meade, though. He liked the hope he saw. Meade had a tired look, and an older visage, but that didn’t matter in war. What mattered were his tactics. 

Nick still let himself have a little faith in Meade. 

Meade addressed that they were going to continue to push North, and follow Lee’s troops, who were heading into Pennsylvania. It was Nick’s personal belief that the Confederates had officially lost their minds. It was better to fight a defensive war than to go on the offence. 

Nick had the feeling that it would be in the bag once everyone was north of the Mason-Dixon line. He was itching for a battle. Things were pretty quiet. That always left him unsettled. Silence and stillness never meant anything good. 

Meade took charge immediately, and started pushing the armies forward. Nick watched over his brigade of men, who marched in beat, while riding his horse beside the lines. He was more content making his way farther north. Not only was he closer to home, but there were cooler temperatures. Wool uniforms and heat didn’t mix well. 

On the hottest days, they would lose men as they marched to heat strokes. 

Nick looked over the lines silently. He knew every one of the soldiers, but didn’t make friends with them. He claimed there was no time, he was too busy, and never found a point to it. 

Once in awhile, he’d spend downtime doing things with the soldiers. Sometimes they’d have church services together, or read the bible, or sing together. Things with comradery. Nick’s favorite thing to do, though, was to play cards. Sometimes there was gambling. The men didn’t seem to notice that when gambling was involved, he seemed to jump on the opportunity. 

Night fell, and the men set up camp. Meade called for the officers: Lieutenants, Captains, Colonels, and Generals. Many of them were older -- into their early forties, and few in their fifties. Nick seemed like a baby around them, only being in his thirties. 

Meade appeared differently than he did earlier. He stood tall, sharply, and held his mouth in a thin line. He was still seeming pleasant, he just seemed like more of a commanding figure. 

“I’m sure you all understand what we’re doing,” he said, “but I wanted to assure that all knew. We are in pursuit of Lee’s army. I hope that soon we  _ will _ , in fact, have a battle with them. I know we will eventually. Prepare, men. Dismissed.” 

Several of the higher ranking officers stayed around to chat with Meade, but Nick had no interest in it at all. He went back to his tent, and pulled his deck of cards from his pack. He kept his aces toward the front of the deck. He looked over his shoulder to make sure he was completely alone, and slipped an ace into his jacket sleeve. 

He stood, and made his way to a game which was almost under way. 

“Let me play around with you,” he said. Two soldiers moved apart, and allowed him into the group. At the head of the group, a young soldier named Jonathan, stood with the decks of cards. 

“Shuffled,” Jonathan said with a smile. “I’m unaffiliated with playing, and I’ve shuffled these. They are completely fine,” he said as he shuffled them a second time before the eyes of all of the men around himself. He started distributing the cards face down. “Each of you gets one face down first, then one face up.” He distributed the second round face up. The first betting round started with the man with the lowest face up card. Luckily, Nick wasn’t the man. He was oblivious to the entire first round of gambling, which happened quickly.

“Alright!” Jonathan said. He distributed the next card face up. 

Nick was uneasy toward the beginning of the game, but as they grew toward the end, he was able to pull his ace when no one was looking. 

He won the game. Jonathan, especially, was amazed. 

“Lieutenant, don’t you want to play another game?” Jonathan asked. Nick chuckled and stood. 

“No thanks, kid,” he answered. “I have some work to do.”

“That’s fine,” he said almost sadly. “I thought your playing was fantastic, though. I just wanted you to know that.”

Nick smiled slightly.

“Thanks, kid,” he said. The group started up with their cheering and laughter again. Nick chuckled and made his way to his tent. He reorganized the things in his tent for the third time -- pack beside his head, his ammo and gun beneath it -- before pulling out his gun. He’d been working on cleaning it, and fixing minor damage.

His home life was nothing to miss. Once he was sixteen, he moved away from his family and rarely spoke to them. He was married, but he hated his wife. She was much different after marriage. He divorced her after a year. He was twenty-nine when he was a free man again. He found pleasure more in the smell of the tobacco he smoked, and in the scent of a smoking gun on the battlefield than in the smell of the feminine perfumes his ex-wife always wore. 

He wasn’t afraid of being alone, unlike her. He enjoyed solitude. 

A young man stepped up to the opening of his tent. Nick lit a cigar, and looked from his gun to the man outside, who bent down to meet Nick’s glare. 

“Can I help you?” he asked with a scowl. 

“Ah, yes,” said the young soldier as he fiddled with the edge of his jacket. “I’m Vincent, sir.”

“Can I help you, Vincent?” he repeated. 

“Oh,” Vincent said, seeming thrown off. He held his rifle out to the Lieutenant. “I need you to take a look at this… It isn’t firing right.” 

Nick took the gun, and looked over one side of it. Vincent neared him. 

“Is it loaded?” Nick asked.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. Nick slapped him on the back of the head.

“Strike one. Don't leave it loaded when you're not in battle,” he said. Vincent sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. Nick unloaded the firearm, which was never a safe process. Once he did so, he looked back at the embarrassed young man. “How old are you Vincent?”

“Seventeen, sir.”

“Young, aren't you?”

“I didn't want my father to have to fight, sir. He is an older man, and he has to take care of my sister. We can't afford to keep her in an asylum, and she needs to be there. With my mother gone, my father has to take care of her, sire,” Vincent answered. Nick sighed, and took the ramrod from its place on the gun, and started using it in the barrel.

“Well, kid, I think I found your problem,” he said. “You have to clean this out every so often.” He put the ramrod back in its place, and took the cloth he was using on his gun, and started polishing Vincent's. “And you seem to have a lot to live up to, and a lot of responsibility for a kid.” Vincent sighed, and sat down in the tent. 

“My big responsibility right now is to get home. My sister Rosie is waiting for me… you know, she doesn't talk, sir, but she learned one word,” the young man said.

“What's that?”

“Vinny,” he said with a contented smile. Nick smiled a bit too.

“Do you write home, kid?”

“Yes, sir, whenever I get the chance,” he answered. 

“Good, keep writing to that old man of yours,” Nick said. He gave the rifle one last glance-over. “This should be better. Let me know if you need more work done on it.” Vincent took the rifle and smiled. 

“Thank you sir,” he said as he stood. 

“You're welcome, kid,” he said.

In a moment, it was just Nick and the stars again.

And suddenly, it was the dead soldier’s face again. He wasn't thinking when he killed the soldier in the woods back in May. Once he dismissed the Reb, he knelt beside the soldier. The blue clad soldier. The soldier was pale, and grew colder. Nick recognized him when he looked at him on the ground. He was a young recruit who was excited to help in the effort. He was too innocent… a lot like Vincent. 

He carried the boy back, and left him near the camp. He said nothing more. When people asked around the next morning, he kept silent. 

He was glad that he didn’t see the Reb from that night again -- the one with the green eyes and the cut on his nose. If he had seen him again, there would be one less Confederate running around. 

He swore to himself then and there that he’d kill that rebel. 


	4. Chapter 4

June 30th, 1863

A scout rode quickly toward the army. He looked worried, and his teeth were clenched, and his brows were furrowed. He slowed when he neared general Hill’s horse. They shared a few words silently. General Lee and his troops had left a while back.  Keith and Ellis were with general A. P. Hill. Keith, beside Ellis, craned his neck in a failed attempt to listen in to the conversation shared between the general and scout. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Ellis, elbowing Keith in the ribs. 

“Listening.”

“You’re not doing much other than making yourself look like a fool,” Ellis mumbled. 

“I may look like a fool, but I’ll know more than you,” Keith snickered. 

The scout watched as Hill looked ahead. Ellis imagined that since Hill was saying nothing, his expression was as worried as the scout’s was.  

The air was hot and silent. 

The scout’s worry put a bad taste in Ellis’s mouth. Keith didn’t seem to mind, which left Ellis know that Keith hadn’t heard a single word of what was shared between the scout and general.

When they stopped, Hill pulled the officers into a meeting. The meeting left the scout surrounded by soldiers. He was seeming flustered as everyone pushed him for the news. 

“Alright!” he finally shouted. “Back away, and I’ll tell you all what happened!” Suddenly, everyone was sitting, and waiting patiently. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure the general will tell you all of this then, but I saw a group of Union soldiers in a small, insignificant town called Gettysburg. I told the general because I'm almost  _ positive _ they are waiting for a--” 

“Shut it, Strauss,” Hill said sternly from behind him. “They were most likely expecting us. At least we have a little warning. So prepare for tomorrow, men. This should only be a little battle before we move on.”

Keith turned to Ellis and laughed to himself. 

“I'm getting a rock from Gettysburg,” he mumbled. Ellis rolled his eyes.

Hill droned on, saying something else, but Ellis didn't listen. It was as if Hill wasn't speaking at all. He heard cicadas hum, and he heard crickets chirp… but nothing else mattered enough to listen to.  

Ellis realized he’d been fighting for two years. He’d given two years of his life to his country, and to something he had no true passion for. The only thing he really had a passion for was running his farm, and running around town with Keith, doing minimal repairs to the homes of people. He’d repaired small machines, broken doors, and he’d even journeyed into metalwork. 

The only repairs he could do in the war were on guns, and occasionally he’d patch up his pants (he tried to avoid it, though, because once he started with his own, all of the soldiers with damaged clothing seemed to need theirs done immediately). Ellis wasn’t a fan of sewing, but he had to do it. 

He wasn't a fan of fighting, either, but he had to do it. 

When he thought about it, there were a lot of things like that in his life. That was life, though. Everyone had that problem. 

Keith suddenly nudged Ellis, who was jolted from thought. Keith looked on with furrowed brows and a half smile.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Ellis nodded. “You're just acting oddly. Also,” he paused to dig through his pocket before pulling out a small object, “Rock. You can see the layers.”

“Seriously, Keith? You’re still looking for rocks?”

“Yes I am, Ellis. At least I have a goal, here,” Keith joked. 

“I have a goal too. Live,” Ellis said. Keith chuckled and looked at the road. 

“You’re so innocent. Hell, if you die in battle tomorrow, you’ll die a virgin,” Keith said with a laugh. “I guess it’s my job to protect you because of that.”

“Shut up! I am not innocent,” Ellis mumbled through a clenched jaw. “How would you know anything like that, anyway? I don’t tell you everything.” 

Keith looked at him blankly. 

“Really, Ell?” Ellis crossed his arms, and huffed angrily. Keith slapped his back and laughed. “No need to be like that. Just pickin’ fun here.”

Meal time ensued with little interest. It seemed like everyone was occupied with the thought of the Union soldiers occupying Gettysburg. That was what had general Hill pacing. He ate little, and only sipped at his coffee. 

Ellis kept his hardtack for later, and offered the remainder of his beans to Keith, who was  _ more _ than happy to take them. He made his way to the tent he had set up, and patched his torn sleeve in low lighting, as not to alert the other soldiers. 

He could smell tobacco smoke. It was thick, and it made him almost wince. His eyes suddenly widened. 

_ The Lieutenant _ . 

He hadn’t thought of the lieutenant in quite a while. The man he didn’t know was the least of his concerns. When he entered battles, though, he thought of the possibility of coming across the lieutenant. He figured next time they saw each other, one of them wouldn’t see the exit of the battle. Ellis had the odd feeling that it would be himself. 

He always asked himself every time he thought of the lieutenant: who was the other soldier, and was he really dead? 

John entered Ellis’s tent, and held two bandanas. 

“Ell, I have this odd feeling about tomorrow,” John said. John’s trademark was his once white handkerchief that always hung from his pocket. He only carried it into battle, and used it few times. It was more of his good-luck charm. It was hand embroidered by his wife with a ‘J’ on it. 

John had a five year old son he adored, and a two year old daughter. He prayed to have another on the way soon, because he loved his children and wife so dearly. He was only twenty-six, and had his life planned and ready. Ellis admired that. He could never claim abilities even similar to John’s for planning. 

John lifted a second handkerchief. It was black with a ‘J’ on it. Ellis furrowed his brow, but before he could say anything, John lifted a hand. 

“God does as necessary, Ellis. Who am I to try and contradict? I cannot write like you can, which is why I’m here. I need you to write a letter to my dear Martha for me.”

“Yes,” he mumbled, “I can do that.” He pulled his notebook out, and readied to write.

“Ready?” Ellis nodded. “Martha, my dear,” he started, “I love you dearly. Tell Thomas and Angelica I love them. I think there will be narrow way of my survival tomorrow, about which you'll hear soon…” He paused. “I should say more, shouldn't I?”

“I think it's nice,” Ellis said. “I don’t know of anything else to add.”

“You’re right,” John said. Without an ounce of a smile, he glanced up at the scribe. “What is there to say when you’re going to die?” Ellis nodded and watched as John secured his black handkerchief to his belt. “I’ll take that,” the man said as he gestured toward the note. “I’m going to sign it myself. Thanks for the help, though. I can’t write or read well.”

“So… Thomas and Angelica,” Ellis said as he handed the note over. John smiled. 

“They are my pride and joy. I wouldn’t trade them for the victory of this war, or for my life,” he said. “Tommy is learning to read and write from Martha. He’s far more patient than I ever was… and Angelica is so smart. I love them so much.” He smiled, though his eyes were tired and mournful. “Thank you for the help, Ell. Could you see that this gets mailed for me?” 

“‘f course,” he answered, slipping the letter beside his letter to his mother. 

“Thank you too much Ell,” he said as he made his way toward the exit of the tent. “And good luck.”

“Thank you John. I'll pray for you,” he responded quietly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ell.”

 

That night was filled with a dull silence that was only cut by cicadas and slight humid breezes. Sleep kept slipping away from Ellis that night. He trusted the general, though. He hoped it would only be a small battle before they moved forward. 

All he had left was his writing and his hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story with the handkerchief was based off of a real story from the Battle of Gettysburg. The man in the story, I believe he was an officer of some sort, and I believe he was Union in the original story. The soldier in the original did actually die in the Wheat field of Gettysburg.


	5. Chapter 5

July 1st, 1863

 

The morning was hot. The sun was bright, and stung the eyes of the soldiers. Canteens were emptying quickly -- General Hill was getting more and more excited. The Union soldiers came into view.

Ellis’s heartbeat grew faster. They heard firing -- rapid firing. He was sure they were intensely outnumbered. They engaged in battle. Faces passed, and fell to the ground. It was almost too much immediately. Blood flew through the air, and the scent of burning hair and skin filled the air. Ellis felt as though his senses were being harassed as he fired, then loaded, and fired again. 

Keith was gone from his side again. He had trust that he’d be alright, he almost always was. He glanced to the person on his other side, who was usually John. John always stood rigidly, and never had a smile when marching. During dinners, and during free time he was smiling, and laughing. He was serious until he was familiar with someone.

When Ellis realized what was happening, he was carrying John from the fighting. Blood was everywhere. John breathed shakily, and looked at Ellis in confusion. 

“Ell, what are you doing?” he asked. 

“I-I’m not sure,” Ellis answered. “I suppose I’m giving you a chance.” John shook his head as he was put on the ground. He coughed, which allowed his maroon blood to trail from his mouth. 

“You’re just getting into more danger,” John said. His eyes were losing focus, and fluttering shut. “I think… I’ll be alright. When you’re…” He coughed again, and closed his eyes, “When you go back to Savannah,” he struggled to say, “tell Tommy and Angelica that I love them… and Martha too.” 

He coughed. 

Ellis looked on with widened eyes. That was when John’s head fell. He stared at nothing in the sky. He didn't breathe, he didn't chuckle, he didn't talk about Tommy or Angelica. All he did was stare and bleed. 

Ellis rested John’s head on the grass. There was nothing he could say. His words clogged in his throat, and he couldn’t pass anything but a quiet breath through his lips. After a moment of listening to echoing cannon blasts, and gunfire, he stood hesitantly. He gave one final glance to John and his black bandanna before he left to rejoin the lines. 

***

Lieutenant Ghazi’s troops entered the battle hours after it was started. He was called as a re-enforcement. There was intensive marching, and the sun made sweat bead on the foreheads of the men who wore thick woolen uniforms. The lieutenant watched over his lines as everyone clashed. There was smoke from guns and from cannons. Everything was loud, and people were falling quicker than he could blink. Before he even knew it, the Union lines were being pushed back toward the local town, Gettysburg. 

A man he’d eaten beside the previous night fell. A man who he’d shared a laugh with a few days prior fell. He knew the men he saw fall. 

He fired too, and called out directions to his men. They listened as best as they could. It wasn’t long before Union troops had control of the hills. Meade commanded that they’d stay there. Since, by that point, there was no way they could chase the Confederate troops out of the town, they’d defend the hills. 

The lieutenant agreed. Having the high ground, and being defensive was the way Nick chose to go. 

Nick looked to his lines. In that moment, he was thrown to the ground. He shouted in slight pain. It took a moment to process that his horse had fallen, and was wounded. He crawled from beneath the horse, a dark horse who he’d named Hunter. 

There was a wound on it’s neck. 

“Hunter,” he said worriedly. He rubbed Hunter’s neck, and watched silently until the poor horse stopped whining in pain, and stopped kicking. The horse was silent with wide eyes. Lieutenant Ghazi shook his head with a furrowed brow before he pulled his pistol from his belt. Suddenly, a soldier flew back into him, causing both of them to fall to the ground. Nick was angry, and looked at the soldier scornfully. 

The young soldier was missing an arm, and blood coated his visage. Nick’s eyes widened when he recognized the soldier’s black hair, and forced smile. 

“Vincent?!” he shouted. The boy nodded slightly. “What happened?!”

“Artillery fire,” he responded quietly. 

For a man who saw death so frequently and in such detail, the lieutenant was horrified by Vincent’s state. Perhaps it was because Vincent was so young, and had so much to live for. He had his sister and his father, and a whole life ahead of himself. War changed that, though. It took from him his innocence, his livelihood, and his life. 

He was fading to quickly for Nick. He tried to think of something while glancing between Vincent and the lines. 

“I’m so sorry kid,” he said. 

“Protect the men, sir,” Vincent said as his head grew heavier on his shoulders. “I’ll see you on the other side, sir. I’ll see you, and Rosie, and my mom and dad...”

Nick saluted the young boy, and rejoined his men. He knew that Vincent wouldn’t make it. He was surprised the boy wasn’t in a shock, and his muscles weren’t tensed. Bullets flew past him, and imbedded into soldiers. It was too much for Nick to explain -- the bullets, the sounds, the smells, seeing people fall. The smoke tasted bitter, and stung his eyes. 

Everything. 

That was the only way he could describe it all. Everything. It all was happening at once. Vincent was downed, blood was everywhere, and after securing the hills, there was no more moving. It was just shooting -- all repetition. Aim, fire, reload; aim, fire, reload; aim, fire, reload. 

He looked at the opposing line of soldiers. They didn’t look much different. Only different uniforms, a different flag, and a different general. What divided the sides were mentality. What they believed in was what they fought for -- or what their country believed was what they fought for. 

Finally, Nick zeroed in on a target. He saw a young man with wavy brown hair, tanned skin, and a slightly visible cut from the distance. With the light limiting as the sun dipped below the horizon, he took aim, fired, and reloaded. 

***

Both armies retired for the night. Keith and Ellis sat silently in front of the fire. Keith’s hands were wrapped in gauze from minor injuries. He wouldn’t say what happened, but he stared at the flames and took small drags on his cigar. Ellis stared at the paper before him. He recalled each time that day in which he narrowly escaped being hit by a bullet. He made sure his last message to his mother was delivered, and that John’s letter was mailed.

He finally started to write what was in his mind. 

 

_ Dear mama,  _

_ I lost a friend today. He loved his two little children like you love me, mama. I can’t really talk about what all I’ve seen today. No one deserves to see that, or to imagine it all. It was too much. It was… everything.  _

_ I just want to come home.  _

_ I’m writing this on July first. I’m surprised the first of July wasn’t the last of Ellis. But I love you, mama. Remember that. _

_ Love,  _

_ Your boy, Ellis _

 

John wasn’t there anymore. 

Death was always something Ellis had a hard time grasping. Mortality. He never believed he could die like that. He didn’t want to die. Since his father died, he imagined that death was just leaving for a while. It was only as he looked at the short letter he wrote to his mother that he realized he’d never see John again, or his father, or anyone from the war. 

The only shot he believed he had was heaven. 

He held the handkerchiefs John left behind. Ellis was planning to give them to John’s family. The embroidered ‘J’ on each provided some sort of comfort that was left in silence. It provided some sort of comfort that John, and the other men couldn’t anymore. 

Giving Ellis a glance, Keith stood.

“I’m going to the tent. Night, Ell,” he said.

“I’ll go too,” Ellis said, sealing his notebook, and standing. 

Goodnight echoed in his mind as he went to the tent quietly. 


	6. Chapter 6

July 2nd, 1863 

On the second day of July, the soldiers maintained their previous lines. Battle ensued. It was the same gruesome storm it was the day before. Ellis saw it as a worse day, and a day for worse luck… he was down one friend, and the other wouldn't speak a word to anyone. 

Most of the time, he was in a daze. Nothing really seemed real. 

He glanced over the lines he was attacking as he fired. Guns, men in blue, anger, glares, screams, chants, smoke, bursts. Bullets. There were horses, too, and men wearing shiny swords on their belts, and silver war medals. Cannons fired with deafening booms, and the smoke blocked parts of the lines. 

There was a man, though, who kept an angry eye on him. The man had a stone-cold, pale face, and dark hair that was pushed out of his face. The man, the  _ lieutenant _ , took careful aim at Ellis. 

There was a moment after the lieutenant fired that felt real. Smells were there -- fiery smoke, decay, burning. His gun felt warm and smooth in his hands. Sounds were everywhere, firing indefinitely and indefinite screaming in pain and fear. Young men along with old men were fearful. Days that were originally taken for granted were treasured. Everything that was once taken for granted was treasured. 

Days weren’t the sort of commodity they looked on lightly any longer. 

The bullet seemed to freeze in air as Ellis remembered everything. His father, who taught him how to fish, and how to plant things, and milk cows, stood before him in a moment. His mother smiled at him. She was young. Stress hadn’t hit her like it did when Ellis was drafted. Beside his father, she had her brown hair again -- no signs of gray, or sinking skin, or surfacing smile lines.

The farm, and the dogs, and the fields were there. The empty, endless aisles of dry dirt with small plants surfacing reminded him of the times when he was young -- less than ten years old, he’d run back and forth across the grass that lined them. His father and Coach would chuckle, and continue their work in song, or with niceties, or with stories. 

Beside his parents in his mind stood Coach and Rochelle. Coach was his father figure once his dad passed. They did everything together. Ellis wanted to grow up with the same morals, and philosophy on life as Coach had. Rochelle was like his older sister. Since he was young, she was there, and being less than ten years older than he was, they were raised together by his mother. Ro, as he called her, helped pick up the pieces if he was upset, or broke anything. 

She especially helped when his father died. 

Ro and Coach had a different reaction to Ellis’s leaving for the draft. His mother cried because he was going to go into war… but he couldn’t put his finger on what their tears were for. He thought it may have been because they knew he didn’t want to leave. They knew he didn’t want to fight for what everyone else was fighting for, and he didn’t want to leave the farm, where he knew what to do, what everything was for, and where his family was. 

He was ten, running beside the dirt. He was eleven, learning how to patch up his own pants beside his mother (because she refused to repair them again). He was twelve, picking up the pieces of a broken family after his father passed suddenly. He was thirteen, being taught how to pick the ripest peaches, and how to harvest correctly. He was fourteen, fixing tools, and journeying into town with Keith. He was fifteen, and sixteen, and seventeen, and everything else that was simple. 

It was all so close, but so distant. 

It was all seen in the blink of an eye. 

The bullet came as quickly as his memories, and pierced his side. It made him fall instantly. The sky took the place of marching lines of fearful men. Blue. Blue, with white nestled in some places, and splattered in other, sneaky in some places, and bold in others. One thought crossed his mind over and over again:  _ I'm not dead yet _ . Men ran past him, and no one seemed to stop, or even look at him. Keith was gone, and darkness started creeping into his vision.  _ I’m not dead _ . 

Keith turned, hoping to see Ellis. Only acquaintances surrounded him. He was shocked. His eyes widened, then narrowed. 

“Kill all sons of bitches,” Keith mumbled through gritted teeth.

***

The lieutenant smiled when the man across the lines fell. He continued to shoot -- sometimes aiming, most times not. His main target was downed, which left him the freedom to choose who he wanted to shoot. 

Suddenly, he dropped his gun. He didn’t notice the blood that covered his hand until he bent to pick it up. He looked for a wound, but gave up to remain shooting. 

Artillery fire struck the line before him, sending him flying backward. Right around where Vincent had died the day before is where he landed. His head was throbbing, and his ears were ringing. Shrill. The sounds around him struck his eardrums in such a way as to make it almost impossible for him to go on. 

He couldn’t move his head, but somehow he found a way to pull himself toward a tree. His ears were filled. Sharp pain hit everywhere, followed by dull rolling pains all throughout his muscles. He couldn’t dare to look at his legs, which were hit by the artillery blast. 

He lifted his rifle, and fired. He gritted his teeth. Firing sent a pulse of sharp pains like needles impaling every area of his body. He wouldn’t stop. He figured he had nothing to live for other than the union. No family, no fortune, no heirs. That was it. There was nothing more to him. He pondered what people would say about him in the future as he shot. 

_ Lieutenant. Hermit. Gambler.  _

No one. 

When there were people like George Washington, and Abraham Lincoln, what was Nicolas Ghazi? A nobody. A nobody with a menial rank (in his own opinion), a gun, and memories that will wither away with the rest of him.  _ Loser. Loner. Nobody _ . He couldn’t even keep a good eye on his men. In fact, he  _ killed _ one of his own. He felt he was less than nobody. 

Nothing. 

But nothing couldn’t kill. Nothing couldn’t be a lieutenant. Nothing couldn’t gamble, or be married -- and neither could no one. He wasn’t someone, or no one. He was just one. 

He rested his gun beside him, and let his head fall. His heavy eyelids sealed. It was the end to a very miserable life. He wished he would have burned his money, or at least wasted it on drinks. 

He heard one more blast before everything was gone. 

***

The battle had ended. Soldiers marched to their tents, and the injured were calling for help. Keith strayed from his tent to observe the fields. He knew Ellis was there somewhere. 

There were a few people carrying soldiers away. 

Keith didn’t mind them. He walked forward, looking for faces on the ground in the darkness. He knew many of them. They were trained together, or saw each other in the streets, or drank coffee together in the dim lighting of the fire. 

He came across one face, though, that made him pause -- dark curly hair, and a cut that spread across the bridge of his nose. Ellis. 

He was on the ground, and had no gun, no canteen, no ammo. He’d already been looted. He didn’t even have his tan jacket any more. Keith looked on at him sadly. Their friendship ended on a field where souls were freed from mortality. Ellis exhaled. 

Exhaling. He was still alive. 

Keith looked around quickly for someone -- anyone -- that could help. There was a nurse with a long dress who walked slowly. She was looking for men who were breathing. 

“Ma’am,” Keith said before clearing his throat. “I’ve got a breathing one here.” She strode toward him quickly, pulling the bag at her side toward her front. She knelt beside Ellis, and grabbed his wrist. “I’m assumin’ you’re a nurse,” he said. 

“Yes. Zoe is my name,” she answered as she opened her bag. 

“Can I call you Zoey?” he asked. 

“No. You can be quiet, though,” she responded. He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. From the bag, she pulled a long cloth. It was secured around Ellis’s midsection to cover the bleeding wound. She gave one final nod, and stood. “Pick him up and follow me.” 

“Pick what?”

“You heard me,” she responded. She started toward a road. Keith cocked a brow before lifting Ellis’s weak, yet relatively heavy body from the ground. He followed her quietly. 

“So… are you married?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m married to my job,” she answered. “In that door, there will be beds. Rest him there, and go rejoin your men.” 

Keith entered the doorway, and looked across the room. It smelled like a lot, and men were shouting, and moaning, and some were even crying. Men were coated in red, and wore stained bandages. He put Ellis on an empty bed beside a man with mangled, broken legs. Keith wasn’t even sure if they were legs any longer. People shouted for him. As he left Ellis reluctantly, men grabbed at him, and begged him to let them leave, or begged him to kill them. 

He stood in the doorway, giving Ellis one final glance. 

“Excuse me,” a man said. Keith turned toward him. He looked official, and had gray hair, and a small beard. “Who are you?”

“Keith… I was carrying a body in for the nurse… Zoey the nurse,” he answered. “And who are you?”

“Doctor William,” he said, “You can call me Bill.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill,” Keith said, “I have to be going, but I wish you luck with all of these men.” 

Bill gave a nod before Keith went back to camp. There was nothing he could think to do. 


	7. Chapter 7

July 4th, 1863

 

Ellis stirred suddenly. Something jolted him awake -- he figured it was a dream. The pain in his side, though, was tremendous. It was overbearing. A nurse came to his side. She had brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were a bright, shiny hazel-green. 

“Can you lift your arms?” she asked. He stared for another moment before he lifted his right arm. He lifted his left arm, which sent a sharp pain into his side. It dropped to his side immediately. 

“Just my right, ma’am,” he answered. 

“Alright,” she said. She gave him a canteen, “there is your water. I’ll be back with you in a bit.” 

Almost as quickly as she came, she left. Ellis looked at the ceiling. It was high above him, and had strong supporting beams reaching between walls. There was a path between the ends of the cots that the doctors and nurses used. There was only enough space between cots for a nurse or doctor to stand to administer medicine. 

On Ellis’s right was a man who had a bandage on his head, and on one eye, who was reading a small book. He was silent. 

“Hello,” Ellis started. The man turned to him, and looked quizzically for a moment. “I’m Ellis… who are you?”

“I didn’t know you were awake now,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I’m Francis.” Francis had a thin nose which belled at the bottom. It seemed almost crooked. He had miniscule facial hair, which was dark, and light eyes. He was pale, and seemed to have sweat beading on his cheeks. “Did you hear we won?”

“We won?” Ellis retorted. 

“The battle. We won,” Francis said with a toothy smile.

“That’s fantastic!” Ellis beamed. 

“Yeah, we sent those damned Rebs running home!” Francis mused. Ellis froze.  _ Damned Rebs? _ His smile shrieked in the slightest. He looked around again. Blue. Blue. Blue. He made eye contact with Francis again. 

“Those fearin’ fools,” he forced with worried eyes. 

“They went back to that dumb-ass southern shit-hole,” he mused to himself. Ellis looked back to the ceiling. He was in a Union hospital. 

“How badly did they lose?” he asked.

“They lost horribly,” Francis answered. Ellis gulped. “They launched a charge up hill. Most of them never even made it to the top. It was a cinch for us to win.” 

“Francis,” a new voice said. Ellis and Francis turned to the tall man who stood with crossed arms. The man, who was bald and had nut-toned skin, lifted a small bottle to be visible to Francis. 

“Ah shit,” Francis grumbled. 

“Time for your medicine,” the man said. 

“Just a moment. Ellis, this is Louis, Louis, this is Ellis,” Francis introduced. 

“Hello Ellis,” Louis said with a smile as he opened the bottle. “I’m a nurse-in-training around here. I help out rather than do surgeries or anything like that. I’m glad for it -- surgeries are nothing I want to see.”

“Hello, Louis… I’m hurtin,’ so that’s why I’m here,” he answered. Louis gave a chuckle as he poured the tonic of sorts onto a spoon. 

“I hope we help you not hurt… Your accent, though. It sounds… foreign,” Louis pondered out-loud. Francis drank the medicine from the spoon, and shoved it back at Louis’s chest. 

“Maryland,” Ellis blurted quickly. “I’m from Maryland.” 

“Maryland! That’s great! I’ve always wanted to go there,” Louis said with a smile as he slipped the spoon into his pocket. 

“I never did,” Francis answered. “I hate the ocean. And islands.”  

Louis and Francis continued with a small conversation. Ellis turned to his left. The cot beside him was dyed a deep maroon. The man’s legs seemed to be artificially shortened, and his eyes were sealed. Ellis was almost sick to his stomach. That was when he realized the pale face and the dark hair had been in his view before. He couldn’t recall exactly, but he knew that his churning stomach meant this encounter wasn’t good. 

“Louis,” Ellis said, glancing to the nurse, “who is that?”

“Oh. We think that is a Lieutenant. Ghazi maybe? I don't remember, but he was lucky that he could be saved. He could have died. Bill had to amputate his legs because of his injuries,” Louis answered. Ellis stared with wide eyes. “We aren’t sure if that  _ is  _ the lieutenant, though, if that is what you are worried about. We’ve only been able to tell by the men who could identify him around here.”

“Lieutenant Ghazi?” Ellis asked. He turned to Louis, who looked on in seriousness. “Will he be able to walk again?” 

“Well… not in the way he used to,” Louis answered. He stepped over and started to tighten a bandage Ellis hadn’t noticed was on his head. 

“Ouch,” Ellis grumbled. 

“I know, I know,” the nurse retorted. Francis chuckled. “Hey you, mister! Mind your own!” the nurse scolded. Once Louis left to help other soldiers, and Francis got back to reading, Ellis looked at the ceiling. High. It was closer to the heavens than Ellis had even hoped to be. Everything seemed far away, and it grew farther. He realized as he looked around just how small he was. 

There were so many hurt men -- some who were already walking again, and some who would never walk; some who cried, and some who would never cry again. 

It all pressed on his chest when he kept thinking about it. His eyes kept seeing everything slip away. John had died, more men each day were dying. He didn't understand why the war had to keep going, and keep tearing families apart. 

Time would pass, and he’d get better, but time couldn’t bring families back together. Time couldn’t bring home lost fathers, or brothers, or uncles, or grandfathers, or sons. Time brought pain, and unknown. The more Ellis thought, his eyes grew blurry with tears. He wiped them away, and turned to Francis again. 

“Excuse me, Francis,” he said as he struggled to push himself up, “Do you have any paper? I have to write to my mother.” Francis paged through his book. In the back, he had blank paper. Slowly, he passed it to Ellis. 

“Unmarried?” Francis asked. 

“Yes. I’ve been busy,” he answered. He took the dip pen and inkwell container from between them on the small table used for medical supplies. He took a long breath. 

 

_ Dear Mama,  _

 

He paused. He hastily scratched it out, and started again. 

 

_ Dear Mama, _

 

“What do you write about when you’re mad?” he mumbled to himself. 

“Islands. The war,” Francis answered as he glanced over the words in his book. “Lost buddies.”

“It was more so rhetorical,” Ellis shot with a glare. Francis grumbled, and buried his nose between the pages again. He started again. 

 

_ Dear Mama,  _

_ I got hurt. Don’t worry, though, it won’t kill me. I’ve already met a other soldiers like me. They were hurt, too. They aren’t all like me though. The man to my right is named Francis. He hates islands, and is friends with the nurses already. He and Louis have banter going. Louis is a nurse. There is a girl who took care of me when I woke up. Her name is… _

 

Her name. Ellis had never asked. Almost smacking his head in anger, he turned to Francis. 

“Francis, what is the name of that lady nurse?” Ellis asked. Francis looked up with a frown playing on his lips. 

“Now you want me to talk?” Ellis rolled his eyes. “Her name is Zoey.” 

“Thank you.”

 

_ Her name is… Zoey.  _

_ The man to the left of me, though, is in bad shape. Louis said the soldier was a lieutenant. He got his legs… shortened. Everything around him is reddish-brown now, though. I’m not going to go on with those descriptions. They aren’t very proper writing etiquette.  _

_ The ceiling here is very high. There are a lot of cots, and a lot of men. It is pretty noisy here.  _

_ I miss you, and Coach, and Ro. I miss the farm. I miss it all.  _

_ I just want to go home.  _

_ I’ll see you when I’m better though… I forgot to mention I’m in a Union Hospital. Now you know. I told them I’m from Maryland. Hopefully no one checks the address on this.  _

_ Love, _

_ Your Boy, _

_ Ellis. _

 

Ellis looked around himself. He was back to the hospital again. He wasn’t in the conversation, he wasn’t with his mother any longer. He was in a place where men screamed, and cried, and… and died. He folded the paper, placed the pen on the table, and looked around. 

The lieutenant was still asleep. Francis was still reading. 

Nurse Zoey came back. 

“You’re sitting up. Does that mean you’re feeling better?” asked the young nurse, placing hands on her hips. 

“Uhm,” Ellis buzzed as he looked at her face. She was pale and looked overworked. Her hair was slipping from the security of her ponytail, which was accented by the bags that fell from her bright eyes. She raised a brow at his pause. “Yes. I’m Ellis, by the way. I know you’re Zoey.” 

“Well, Ellis, can I try to move your left arm for you?” she asked. 

“Yes ma’am,” he answered. She grabbed his wrist. She hadn’t even moved it far from the bed before it sent sharp pains through his muscles. It hurt most, though, when she moved it against the wound on his side. He furrowed his brows tightly, and sealed his eyes. He hadn’t realized he was biting his lip until he tasted the iron from his blood. 

Finally, she rested his arm back on his cot. 

“So, how much did that hurt?”

“Too much, ma’am,” he forced through clenched jaws. 

“Recovery will take longer than I expected,” she mumbled, “but we’ll manage.” 

“Ma’am, before you go,” he said, “can you see that this gets mailed?” He handed his letter to her. 

“Yes,” she answered before walking away swiftly. He glanced to Francis, then the lieutenant, and allowed himself to fall asleep again. 


	8. Chapter 8

     Men had cried and shouted the entire night. Ellis didn’t catch much sleep, and he could tell every time Francis was startled awake, because he’d grumble and curse under his breath.  
     Even though it was dark, occasionally a candle holding nurse would pass through to a bawling man, or a screaming soldier. The smells that filled Ellis’s nose in the darkness were pungent. Blood, tobacco, something burning… rotting. Death. The hospital smelled like death. Ellis grabbed his canvas blanket tightly. It was rough in his right hand.  
     It was the kind of fabric he used on the farm during the harvest. He would carry a canvas bag as he and Coach harvested cotton. They had a small patch to occupy Ellis’s mother's time. Once it was harvested, she had a grand time. Ellis never paid attention to what was actually done with it though.  
     Once it was collected, the whole family would sit out with the dogs and pull seeds out of the plant (they never wanted a cotton gin). Those were family times held after lunch. If they didn't finish by time to cook dinner, they pulled seeds afterward too.  
     Morning came too slowly. When it came, though, it brought surprises. The man on the left side of Ellis stirred. The man was in an odd daze, and stared at the ceiling. Zoey was between the two soldiers almost instantly, giving the man medicine and water. Ellis tried to crane his neck to look at the soldier, as did Francis, who woke up with the sounds of the morning.  
     The man mumbled to the nurse. He happened to glance past her shoulder, and made eye contact with Ellis.  
     “That’s a reb,” he said in a normal tone. “He’s a reb.” Zoey turned to Ellis.  
     “No he isn’t, Lieutenant. You’re fine,” she got back to rebandaging his open wounds, “he’s from Maryland.”  
     “No, he’s a Reb! I shot him! Where’s his jacket?!” He shouted. Zoey looked him in the eye.  
     “Lieutenant, you're fine,” she reassured, “Leave him alone.”  
     “How can I be fine?!” the Lieutenant shouted. “Nurse, I’ve been taught to fight and kill men like him. I shot him. He can’t be here.”  
     Zoey turned to Louis across the room. He nodded and neared.  
     “Calm down, Lieutenant,” Zoey said as she smiled kindly to him. Louis handed him a bottle.  
     “I’m not going to drink that,” Nick said, looking to the foot of his bed where the latter nurse stood. He finally saw his legs. The color dropped from his face. “What happened?”  
     “Here's your tonic,” Louis said. He sat the whiskey bottle beside the Lieutenant.  
     “What happened to my…”  
     “Your legs are gone, Lieutenant Ghazi,” Zoey said apologetically. “Thank you for your service.”  
     Nick popped his tonic opened, and looked down from the nurses. They strode away, leaving him to scowl at the pitiful life he was left with. Ellis and Francis watched the Lieutenant, who disregarded them entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so sorry my activity has been terrible! Here is a long-coming (unfortunately it is short) update!


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